Peripeteia
by hyacinthian
Summary: David comes to a realization and does a little research of his own. [BoothBrennan]


A/N: Props to Jen for the beta.

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When they had actually gotten around to having dinner, the night had been fairly mediocre. He chose a nice Italian restaurant and they chatted amicably over pasta and red wine, but he could tell by the look in her eyes that this wasn't having the same effect on her as it was on him. She smiled, looked beautiful, laughed at all the right times, but it all seemed so staged somehow.

He walked her to the door of her apartment, and she had smiled as she leaned against the doorway. He leaned in to kiss her, and she turned her head at the very last moment so that all he got was an awkward kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You're very nice..."

"No sparks?" he asked.

She merely smiled sadly, a smile that reminded him of the Mona Lisa in its mysteriousness, and he shrugged. "No hard feelings," he said with a broad smile. A smile that was overeager in its attempt to convince her that he wasn't rebuffed.

"You're very nice," she repeated. "Could we still be friends?"

Yes, this night was turning out great. He was already breaking up with her on the first date. "Of course," he said, grinning. "I'm not going to turn down a beautiful woman."

She blushed. "I enjoyed dinner tonight, David."

"Ah," he said, lifting an index finger, "but apparently, not enough to allow me to kiss you good night?"

"Keep in touch?" He nodded because, as pathetic as it was, he was under her spell. So he kissed her on the cheek again this time, and she kissed his cheek and headed into her apartment.

They had dinner again a couple nights after that. It was more relaxed this time. There were no botched attempts at romance, and he was able to feel more at ease. He still tried to charm her, of course, but she merely smiled and took it in stride, as if he was joking. She was still adamant about their status as friends.

They still talked on the phone and e-mailed often, and they soon grew into a close rapport. Though her work schedule kept her away at all times (which was why it was so difficult to ask her out to dinner without requesting a copy of her schedule for the year), on their third night out, she trusted him enough to ask him if he could read through the manuscript for her second novel and offer his opinions.

He smiled graciously, feeling a bit like a beauty pageant contestant, and accepted. When he arrived home that night, it was on the top of his to-do list.

He had been familiar with her as a writer beforehand, though he hadn't jotted down every last minute detail. This time, however, he combed through her manuscript and seemed to discover a reason for her ambivalence towards his come-ons.

If the manuscript provided any clue, she had a thing for her FBI agent partner. A very, very big thing. It took all of his self-restraint to avoid hitting himself in the head at all of the veiled flirting and innuendo in the novel. But he was friends with her enough to know that if he brought it up, she'd merely shrug it off and start off on another rant about the ridiculous requirements set by society regarding men and women in friendships or partnerships. And he really couldn't stand to hear that one again. His brains had threatened to ooze out his eyes at the last speech she gave. She had a tendency to spout technical speak in a very...dry manner.

So, after hearing her advocacy of science, he figured he'd conduct a little experiment for himself. Who'd have ever thought? David Simmons, the almost-scientist. He didn't call her, just called that morning to check to see if she was in. He expected her to be, knowing her workaholic status.

As he rushed to the lab to find her, he bumped into her in the hallway, and she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He wanted to stay and chat, but like a hawk, almost predictably, Agent Booth swooped in and stole off with her. He feigned annoyance, made a flippant remark, and followed them, handing her manuscript back to him.

Agent Booth was on him before he could even take his next breath, taking the manuscript. He made another flippant mark, noting the annoyed tone of voice Agent Booth used, his amazingly short response time, and the seemingly harmless question he posed that held more in the subtext than in the actual question itself.

He mentally jotted down the way Temperance had blushed and changed the subject. And when he reminded her of her notes, which was the anecdote she had used on their third dinner, she ran back to the lab, almost as if she was skittish.

Once she left, FBI agent man started circling him like a mother bear protecting her cubs or something. G-Man had laughed, stuck his hands in his pockets, and leered. "So, are you two, uh..."

He shook it off with a shrug. "Is that a problem?"

And then Agent Booth had leaned in and glared in an attempt to be intimidating (that almost worked), and dispelled some advice. And he had murmured a response and watched as Booth sprinted down the hall after Temperance.

Oh, yeah. The man had it bad. 


End file.
